


Twenty-four hours

by reichenbach



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Original Universe, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:11:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2392955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reichenbach/pseuds/reichenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poem for each hour of the day; until it ends and a new dawn comes up.<br/>-<br/>"<i>you wish you were simply</i><br/><i>split in two, just like the day</i><br/><i>you are, instead,</i><br/><i>a kaleidoscope</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1 am

 

it’s 1 am and you are wasting your breath on an

unknown cigarette

in your unknown clothes

between unknown walls

your knuckles are bruised and you are shaking

you lift your hand up; your bruises are as purple

as the night sky

 

so you go waste your breath outside, golden boy

you run with your fist up

bruises matching the night sky

you will reach him

you say to yourself

but soon you stop and you are shaking and you can’t breathe

because he is the full moon

and you just smoke an unknown cigarette


	2. 2 am

it’s 2 am and you are sitting in a diner

the neon lights are tickling your eyelids

and your glasses feel heavy; you take them off

you let them rest on a cheap, shallow

wooden table

everyone there is desperate in the eyes of god

but aren’t you too?

you ask yourself as the waiter appears

to look just like him

 

you get out and the night breeze hits on your neck

not as hard as the punch you get next

you get in a fight

irrational, absurd, illogic

there’s now blood all over your shirt

a golden crucifix lies on the ground

as you gaze up to the sky

blood drops off your nose

and you know

that you are desperate in the eyes of the stars


	3. 3 am

now it’s 3 am, you guess

lovers on the edge of the street are saying farewell

while they hold tight the shiny keys of the home

they’ll return to

you are holding a handset instead

running your fingertips on cold

metallic buttons

dialing a number that leaves reversed

red feelings on the tip of your fingers

 

of course, you should have thought

it doesn’t work

for years had passed since the last time it was used

that’s what you thought about your heart too

but then you get your hoodie up

pick up the coins

and realize that your heart

is not a payphone


	4. 4 am

the subway car is waving up and down

a far displays shows you it’s 4 am

your eyes are fixed on that stain of blood

on your pants

you can’t manage to wipe out

you rub it again and again and again

it’s darkening and it’s deepening

and you’ll make another hole out of it

 

once you get off, you are stiff and hungry

and shallow

you long for his collarbone and his

clean, well-kept shirts folded in the 3rd drawer

they must be asleep, you think

and so must be their owner

because he is a creature of logic and you are

wandering underground

human and flawed 


	5. 5 am

it’s 5 am when your head hits the pillow

your body aches and you feel tired

but your heart is pumping too much blood to your head

and makes it impossible to fall asleep

that’s what you say

to yourself

 

and you keep promising that

you will fall asleep when your mother tells you to

and that you’ll wake up when he does

someday,

you’ll stop chasing him like the sun does with the moon

but today

is not that day -

and that they won’t come, the lamppost says to you

as you look out the window;

weighting the ashtray,

you decide that you won’t trust anymore

those slim, arrogant streetlights


	6. 6 am

it must be 6 am when you are sitting

naked in a bathtub with not enough water

your eyes closed

that’s when you know he gets up

because he enjoys the dawn and you are sure

that he’s making himself toasted bread and

honey and apples

 

you know that he’d take your bruises away

as gently as he cuts that burnt bread crust

you don’t like to eat

do not be desperate, child

there will come a time where someone

will cut your burnt crusts and throw them away

to the birds

but know that you’re independent

and when you acknowledge this

in that independent bathtub of yours

you still wish that he was the one who cut them

for you


	7. 7 am

at 7 am your feet are cold and you can’t find your socks

odd, you realize

the moment you crouch near the bed

because you never needed those;

you have always hated socks

 

after that, you slip into your clothes

once you put on your worn-out boots

they fit larger than the usual

still, you can go now

but exactly where?

you have nowhere to go

nothing to attend

and with those dark circles

and bruises

you don’t want to be seen

 

fully clothed, you now rest

on your front door

at 7 am

counting

the lovers

on the street


	8. 8 am

at 8 am you sit in a park

you wave your hand at

little children going to school

they don’t care about how you look

their mothers are, instead,

disappointed with your self

 

when you are reading, a young girl

sits next to you

she’s tear-eyed and her puffy cheeks

are darkened with sadness

‘what’s the matter?’ you ask her, politely

‘the boy I love

doesn’t love me back’

 

‘love is springtime

and you are just about to bloom’

you say and she cheers up

going straight to that garden

of roses

you’ll never belong to


	9. 9 am

be your own ray of sunshine or

your anchor

or whatever kids nowadays tell themselves

to their lonely bodies

at 9 am, kicking pebbles,

you tell this to yourself

 

you wished you learned your lesson

when you broke your arm

when you crashed your car

when you decided that blood

for love

is the new romantic

 

wasted, you are,

and you cannot trust yourself to handle yourself

until those dark eyes are around


	10. 10 am

it’s 10 am when you realize that

you are hungry

you are always craving around for love

and sympathy

that you forgot about feeding your body

 

but you are hungry of food and that’s new

and what’s new is good

maybe next you’ll sleep during the night,

God only knows

 

you seem happy when

you sit in that café’ you’ve always wanted to go

smiling shy with all your bruises

you seem happy and you want to keep it that way

you want to be that brave little soldier

that doesn’t want to save the world;

this time

you want to save yourself


	11. 11 am

at 11 am your morning has almost finished

another hour marks what’s left

you wish you were simply

split in two, just like the day

you are, instead,

a kaleidoscope

 

one, single feeling

projects himself

a thousand times into your heart

in bright red and blue

there’s a crack into one of the mirrors

you realize, at 11 am

when that one feeling doesn’t project himself

as good as the others

 

but you still feel red and blue


	12. 12 am

you lie on the sand

at 12 am

you drew a circle on the sand,

and divided it into a half

you put yourself into the left one

 

‘this is me, and this is you

a line

a circle

trapped, we are

into a round universe

and we shall chase each other

half by half

until God stops me from doing so’

 

you know well, my dear boy

that he does not believe in any god

if not in that one who dresses stars and moons

at 12 am, at the sea

you gaze into the morning sky

 

your morning is over; you may now rest

and sleep a thousand nights

under the shining sun

that you resemble so much


	13. 1 pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change of scenario; the first half is complete, now Spock goes on with the second one.

it’s 1 pm and you are taking a break  
you can’t complain about your job  
it’s one of those where you fix all sorts of things  
it keeps your mind busy  
but you can’t stop thinking about that boy  
that one you can’t seem to fix

you are simple  
you enjoy cereals without milk  
and crêpes without filling  
how funny must it look  
to fall in love with someone  
all but simple

this is you, at your lunch break  
with your dark bangs and a bag full of projects  
you’ll never make  
you live your life  
waiting to wake up  
waiting to lunch  
waiting to have dinner  
waiting to sleep

you don’t live your life,  
child of the night

sipping your coffee  
you wait to die


	14. 2 pm

at 2 pm you check out

as you pass, tired, by a pastry shop

you realize it’s your birthday

you get some pastries

as your mother used to

 

she would buy ten

for guests and friends were to come

in the evening of your birthday

you are sure that

no one will come

you don’t have friends,

nor family anymore

 

and ten you get

as you walk home,

with your long hands and your slim cigarette

you stop ten times

to look for his eyes

into the crowd

as the child you were once


	15. 3 pm

it’s 3 pm when you are sitting

in that low, faded green couch of yours

(which isn’t, technically,

yours

since you decided that to replace someone else’s furniture

would be a waste of money)

reading, but not reading

 

you do as well

exist,

but do not exist

you think of yourself as

a waste of breath

a piece of furniture

a namesake

 

you are wearing a lilac sweater

that matches the sky outside

that matches your heart

you are lilac

but he’s the deep blue

 

you stand up and choose another book


	16. 4 pm

at 4 pm you lie against a gray wall

you took off your glasses

and reclined your head a little bit more

each time you breathed out smoke

your Adam’s apple is beating fast

against your throat

 

if it was another day

you would have thought that

the time of rest was near; to end another

day was your primary function

but today is the day

when you think about how much troubled

is it now, that dear rest of yours

 

sliding to the floor,

gently tossing away his CDs,

you think about how much

silently troubled

you must be now,

holding the end of your sweater

as gently as you would hold

the end of his shoulders


	17. 5 pm

‘maybe next time’,

you say to yourself

when at 5 pm you stop dialing his number

placing your phone on the floor

and sitting right next to it

 

absurd, since you got plenty of chairs

in your kitchen;

you have unreasonable needs now

such as desiring someone to share your birthday with

and choosing the floor as afternoon companion

you might as well share biscuits

and chitchat about the weather

 

your heart is a Sunday afternoon

and you know well that he’d be the distraction

that would make it worth living through

 

you are going to tell him,

but maybe next time


	18. 6 pm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super late on this one. Definitely super sorry.

at 6 pm you are shopping in the supermarket

your bag is full of vegetables

as you pass by some apples

you just take the green ones

you have always liked them better

 

it is already dark outside,

the neon lights faintly try to water

your sad, sad cheekbones;

maybe he likes the red ones better

but your lips are so pale they could never reach

that bright shade

he definitely enjoys to bite

 

on your way home, you realize that

loneliness is green apples and sour cigarettes

you bite your cigarette

and blow your apple


	19. 7 pm

you make your dinner

at 7 pm, slicing some carrots

and peeling potatoes

you eat healthy because you know

other ways to hurt your body

you think, while your favorite jazz cd

is playing in background

 

how curious, though

that you can’t even remember its name

just as you try to,

you cut yourself and blood flows faster

than you thought it would

you take your time looking at your finger

 

and in the meantime,

blood has taken over your vegetables

you’ll boil them anyway

you wish you could boil your heart

you really do

 

blood keeps flowing


	20. 8 pm

it’s 8 pm when you look silently into your

bathroom mirror

the lightning is white and shallow and

you look sicker than ever

 

it’s cold outside;

inside there’s

enough cold that your finger doesn’t bleed anymore;

enough cold to make your knuckles hurt

and your knees and your feet

life on the moon was never this hard

 

because you thought that you would only

lack of oxygen

and gravity

you never thought you would have to deal

with feelings for the sun


	21. 9 pm

you are smoking a cigarette on your balcony

it’s 9 pm, you hear parents trying to keep their kids

into their little beds

but they crave for stories and for

unworldly fantasies

 

you know plenty of those;

you could be a father to one of those

children

instead you are a polite, gloomy neighbor

they stare at you from behind

their windows, gasping in curiosity

you are a dragon to them

 

you breathe smoke now,

as if you’ll ever breathe fire

but this time

a princess has kidnapped you,

and you don’t want to let them know it


	22. 10 pm

at 10 pm you are on a bridge

one of your own, born out of

those pebbles you kick once or twice

you are on a bridge;

a hanged man lies under

 

not all monsters are monsters

not all lies are lies

then why does the well that lies under

reflect yourself?

are you not a monster?

are you not lying?

 

the hanged man looks terribly like

you, my dear

your death is shallow and keeps your head down

you are not able anymore to look

at the stars above;

you are only able to see their reflection

 

as you see them,

they see you

and boy,

they look a lot like him


	23. 11 pm

it’s 11 pm and you can’t keep up

with your human functions

you should be asleep;

but your mind is having a

ballad

into a long, sleepless night

 

you could run with the wolves

and howl at the moon

but instead you are

a lone wolf

who has fallen in love

with the lion king

 

dark, you are

you are always surprised to find out

that ink does not come down of your eyes

nor your hair;

 

at 11 pm

you howl

with your wrists under

cold water


	24. 12 pm

it’s midnight when things

start falling apart

because to you,

00:00,

is another world; another dimension

it is nor today or tomorrow

it is just

a circle

 

a circle is what you lie in

crawled in your bed

you put yourself in the right side

as if the left one were

already occupied by someone else

 

you wish it were;

but you lie alone now

and the spines wrapped around

your tongue

cannot make you say it out loud

but the truth is

that you are in love with the sun

and no matter how small you are

 

your reflection will always

be

a projection of a love

lost in a thousand stars

 

(a minute after

it’s surely tomorrow

you search for your phone

and call his number;

almost as he’d been waiting

he picks up right away

and his ‘hello?’

speaks to you more softly

than a hundred whispers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I'll actually write those, but here I am. Thanks for everyone who's read my poems and left a kudos, and the greatest thanks to rosemanon, who has always been kind and never stopped writing a comment. As I told you already, you kept me going. Thanks! ♡


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